


Wrong

by missigma



Category: DCU
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 13:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7441138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missigma/pseuds/missigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Clark,” Bruce pushed himself up onto his forearms. “What’s going on?” He rolled away as Clark wrenched at his waist, hard enough that his belt broke. With flick of his wrist, Clark threw the belt across the room.</p><p>“Hope you didn’t think you’re the only one who’s been taking notes over the years.” The smile, Clark’s smile, followed, as bright and easy as it had ever been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out my tags before continuing. Also, be warned that there's no comfort or tidy resolution at the end.
> 
> I'll let this image, taken wildly out of context, set the tone: https://imgur.com/QpUjLxm

Careless.

The word reverberated around his skull as his vision flashed white. He had become careless here, in his own home. Careless around the one man he knew he must always be ready for.

He lay on the metal grating that covered the floor, willing himself to rise. His head was still spinning from the first blow he had been dealt. Shifting to his side in hope that his cape might conceal the movement, Bruce put his fingers to his belt.

“No.” His hand was kicked away, the shock leaving his arm numb below the elbow. Seizing at his cowl, a great hand tore it from his head. His radio, lenses, optical screens, all gone in little more than second.

“Clark,” Bruce pushed himself up onto his forearms. “What’s going on?” He rolled away as Clark wrenched at his waist, hard enough that his belt broke. With flick of his wrist, Clark threw the belt across the room.

“Hope you didn’t think you’re the only one who’s been taking notes over the years.” The smile, Clark’s smile, followed, as bright and easy as it had ever been.

“Of course not, old friend.” Bruce did not try to summon any of Clark’s charm as he drove his fist into his cheek. The ring, gleaming sickly green, impacted first, and for once Bruce held hope he might have bruised him. 

Reeling backwards, Clark stumbled. Bruce threw another punch while he was still off-balance, nearly driving him to the ground. He struck him a third time and Clark crashed to the floor, apparently stunned.

It took only seconds for him to recover. Too fast for Bruce to see, much less react, Clark’s hand shot up and dragged him to the ground. Bruce wrestled with him desperately, but was too far outmatched to prevent Clark from pinning him face down on the floor.

Rising, Clark planted his bare foot in the small of his back as he twisted Bruce’s right arm behind him. Teeth gritted, Bruce tried to push himself up off the ground, but he could not find the leverage needed to throw him. Clark seized at his hand, clumsily prying his fingers apart. He grasped the ring and wrenched it from Bruce’s finger. The bone snapped, and Bruce grunted in pain. Clark grunted in exertion as he sent the ring spinning across the cave.

“I can’t risk hitting you the head again, but you’re too dangerous otherwise,” Clark told him, still grasping his arm. “So, I’ll have to do this.” He yanked up on Bruce’s wrist, and Bruce shouted as his arm left its socket.

Allowing the limb to fall back to his side, Clark pressed his knee between Bruce’s shoulders. Swiftly, he stripped him of his gauntlets, his gloves, his boots, and his cape. Bruce lay still, trying to overcome the blinding pain that surged through his body with even the slightest movement of his shoulder. 

Clark flipped him over onto his back, and Bruce grunted. “Here,” he gently put his hand to his shoulder.  Bruce tipped his head back, watching him warily. Painfully, Clark set his shoulder, the joint grinding unwillingly back into place.

As he tried to regain his composure, Bruce briefly took time to observe Clark. Clark wore only jeans and a t-shirt, his hair unkempt and curly. To Bruce, it meant that Clark had been caught unawares. Something had happened to him at his home that had brought him here.

What that something was, Bruce could only guess. This was different than when Clark had been controlled by Ivy. He had been silent then, an observer to his own actions rather than a participant. Now, he seemed alert. No detail about him seemed out of place, no shift in his eyes or tone of his voice.  

More than that, he had clearly retained his memory of Gotham City and the cave. He even had the presence of mind to disarm Bruce.

Still, so many other things were wrong. Clark would never have ambushed him, regardless of circumstance. He was full of antiquated notions of chivalry which certainly would have prevented him from such an attack. If he hadn’t been so clearly  _ Clark  _ with his inhuman voice, his accent, his smile, Bruce would be certain he was an impostor.

Clark turned from him to cast his belongings away. Finding his feet, Bruce barely managed to grab at the Batcomputer’s keyboard before Clark could drag him away.

Squinting at the screen, Clark frowned when he found what he had done. The emergency command had locked down every system in the cave, disabling everything except the lighting and ventilation system. “You locked your rescuers out.”

“I locked you in.” Bruce tried to twist free, but could not loosen Clark’s grip. 

“You can’t lock me in,” Clark grinned, a slight chuckle stirring in his throat. He was right, of course. Bruce could still see the hole in the cave above him, where Clark had descended. “But you don’t need to worry. I only came here for you.” 

Looping his arm around Bruce’s waist, Clark yanked him forwards. Bruce knew he was not strong enough to resist, so he stumbled after him, following his lead. His hand settling in the small of Bruce’s back, Clark leaned so close that Bruce could feel the heat of his breath 

Stubbornly, Bruce kept his head down, his chin tucked into his chest. That only meant that Clark had to dip down another inch to press their lips together.

Bruce was tempted to bite him, but knew he would only injure himself if he dared. Instead, he did his best to turn away, dodging his affections. Quickly tiring of his rejection, Clark seized him by his jaw and forced their mouths together again.

He kissed Bruce hungrily, exploring and conquering his mouth with his tongue. Clark palmed at Bruce’s ass, then drew him forwards until their hips scraped together. Bruce could feel Clark’s cock beginning to stiffen against him as he ground against him. Squirming uncomfortably, Bruce began to turn his head, but stopped when Clark dug his teeth into his lip.

Grabbing a fistful of Clark’s shirt, Bruce twisted at the fabric. He tried to push Clark away, futilely, but could not make him budge. “Clark,” he managed between kisses. “Talk to me. Why are you doing this?”

Abruptly Clark yanked him back by the hair, pulling hard enough that Bruce bent backwards. He held him like that, exposed. His eyes burned red as he twisted his mouth contemptuously. “Because I’m done with you, Bruce.” He leaned forwards, lips grazing against his bared throat.

“Why?” Bruce demanded. Truthfully, he could think of half a dozen reasons why Clark could be furious with him, though maybe only one that could get him to show up on his doorstep. None of them could explain the events that had passed since then. The wrongness of it all screamed at him, but offered no explanations to its cause.

Something flickered behind Clark’s eyes. A moment of hesitation. Clark did not know why he was here. He did not know why he was hurting Bruce. That must mean something else was controlling him. 

“Clark, you need to fight this,”  Bruce tried as Clark kissed his throat, clinging to that revelation. “This isn’t you. I know you don’t want to do this.”

“Shut up,” Clark snarled, before hurling him back into the wall. His head slammed against solid concrete, and again Bruce’s vision blurred.

Stunned, it took far too long for Bruce to push himself to his knees. Dimly he was aware that there was blood streaking down his cheek. Pressing the heel of his palm to the new gash near his ear, Bruce leaned against the wall, too dizzy to stand. He braced himself as Clark’s shadow fell over him.

“You have no idea what I want.” Clark grasped at Bruce’s hair, twisting at a handful. His teeth gritted, Bruce looked up at him. 

“You look good on your knees. Better than I ever imagined.” Clark held his gaze for a long moment, an odd smile on his lips. He ran his thumb over Bruce’s lower lip, pausing to probe at the place he had previously bitten.  

“This is where you belong.”

Bruce lowered his eyes as Clark reached for his fly. Though he had guessed this was coming, his foresight did not make this any easier.

Hot flesh pressed against his mouth, the smell of him suddenly underneath his nose. “Open your mouth,” Clark ordered with another twist of Bruce’s hair. Bruce shut his eyes. This was not Clark, he reminded himself. 

Clark rubbed his cock along his lips, finding friction and heat. He was already half-hard, but he was looking for far more than the softness of Bruce’s lips. He growled impatiently and moved forwards, applying sudden pressure to Bruce’s injured shoulder with his knee. Bruce gasped and immediately Clark pushed inside his mouth.

Bruce struggled to accommodate him. Clark was thick enough to stretch his jaw uncomfortably.   Shallowly, Clark began to thrust inside Bruce’s mouth, only just beginning to test his limits. Again, Bruce fought the impulse to bite him, reminding himself that would do nothing. 

“God, your mouth.” Clark groaned as his cock slid in farther. Bruce strained against the hand that held him, disgusted by the thought that Clark could find any pleasure in this.

Clark rocked his hips forwards, and with great effort Bruce managed not to choke. His head was wedged solidly between the wall and Clark’s body, his hand clutching at his skull to keep him from turning away. He could do little more than keep his mouth open and his jaw slack. 

Saliva dripped messily down Bruce’s chin as Clark pushed deeper, faster, hitting the back of his throat. Bruce gagged, but Clark did not let up even when he put his fist to Clark’s hip in a desperate bid to try to hold him back. Bruce could barely breathe as reflex took over, his eyes watering as he fought the urge to retch.

Abruptly, Clark released him. Bruce slumped back against the wall in momentary relief. He did not flinch as Clark trailed his fingers over his cheek, still too busy trying to calm his heavy breathing.

“Hold your breath.” Clark smirked as Bruce swallowed a panicked lungful of air, before forcing his cock down his throat.

Grasping at the nape of his neck, Clark held Bruce down, his lips near the base of his cock. Cruelly, he pinched his nose shut. Bruce gagged, his throat spasming against him. He tried to breathe around him, but could not draw in enough air. Bruce forced himself to relax, his muscles going slack against the intrusion.

With his throat no longer offering any resistance, Clark pushed a fraction deeper. Groaning, he carded his fingers through the short hair at the nape of Bruce’s neck. Finally, Clark released him. Bruce doubled over on himself, coughing as he tried to drag air back into his lungs. 

“You look a mess,” Clark smirked down at him. Stooping momentarily, he pulled at the corner of his shirt. Stretching the cloth, he wiped Bruce’s mouth clean. He then wrapped his arms around Bruce and threw him over his shoulder. Striding across the room to the medical station, Clark slammed him down on the surface of the low metal table.

Bruce barely managed to keep from smashing his jaw on the stainless steel. His side impacted next, and the pain knocked all of the air out of his lungs. The feeling was all too familiar. Broken ribs. 

As Bruce again struggled to breathe, he felt his suit tear. No amount kevlar fibers could stop Clark from rending the tough fabric with ease, along with everything underneath. Clark’s hands settled on his bare skin, caressing him. He kneaded at the tight muscles just above the small of Bruce’s back, before his fingers moved lower.

“Clark,” Bruce rasped, trying to draw his attention. 

At the sound of his name, the hands steadily roaming southward left his skin. Instead Clark put his hand in Bruce’s hair, his touch almost tender. “What is it, Bruce?” he asked, feigning concern. Then taunting, “Are you going to beg for me?”

Grimacing, Bruce turned from him, pressing his forehead against the low table. “Nothing to say?” Clark prompted, pinning him against the table with his hips. He dug his fingers into Bruce’s ass, spreading him apart. Slowly, Clark began to rut against him, cock sliding over his sweat-drenched skin.

Lips pressed together, Bruce forced himself to stay silent. Clark’s movements were slow and lazy, only the introduction to the final act. He heard Clark fumble through the drawer at his side and glanced back at him.

A tin of vaseline sat near his hip, and Clark was scooping out some of the salve onto his fingers. Catching Bruce’s gaze, he grinned. Putting his finger to Bruce’s skin, he drew a broad and messy stripe over his ass. His finger skimmed over his hole, then returned to prod at the sensitive ring of muscle. 

Slick and greasy, Clark pushed his index finger inside him, followed soon after by his middle finger. His fingers were thick and clumsy, and it stung as he forced the digits deeper.

In spite of himself, Bruce still struggled to remember that this was not Clark, that he was not in control. “Clark,” he gritted out. “Don’t do this.”

“You want to stop now?” Clark nearly pouted. He did not draw away. Clark would never do this, Bruce repeated to himself. Clark would  _ never. _

“Look at how good you take two fingers.” Slowly, Clark slid his fingers in and out of him. “Let’s see how easy you take three.”

The third finger was not easy, but Clark worked it in anyways, knuckle deep. Bruce ground his teeth as he fought keep quiet, unable to escape between the hand pressing down on the middle of his back and the other fucking him slowly.

Through blurry eyes, Bruce focused on the glow of green still visible on the floor of the cave. All he had to do was break free from Clark and cross the distance to the closest wall. It was maybe fifteen yards. Clark would slow down the closer he got to the kryptonite, perhaps enough for Bruce to outpace him. Perhaps.

When Clark’s hands left him. Bruce did not have to look behind him to know what came next. He lunged across the table, coming crashing down on the other side. He twisted around as Clark caught hold of his calf, grabbing hold of the stool nearest him. Bruce smashed the stool against Clark’s head when he dove after him.

Clark did not flinch as the plastic seat splintered against his cheek. He pulled Bruce upright by his armpit, and again shoved him against the table. A dagger of pain flashed through Bruce’s ribs, and his vision briefly faded, his body overloaded by the sensation. 

Holding him by his wrist, Clark stretched Bruce’s uninjured arm across the table. Wrenching the end of one drawer pull free from the side of the table, he bent the metal into a tight circle around his wrist. With Bruce effectively shackled to the table, Clark returned his hands to his hips.

Bruce had meant to remain silent as Clark took him. He failed as soon as his cock entered him. Groaning, Bruce gritted his teeth, trying to stifle the sound. It felt as if Clark was splitting him open, his body too tight, too small, not  _ enough _ to take him all at once.

“You’re so  _ tight _ .” Clark sounded ecstatic as he bottomed out inside him. The slick slip of his length in inside him burned. In spite of himself, Bruce lay down his head and tried to relax, hoping to lessen the toll on his body.

Agonizingly, Bruce allowed himself to slip into a state of mind focused only on self-preservation. He reluctantly surrendered to the idea that as long as Clark kept his hands on his body, he would not be able to escape him. That meant he must look farther ahead, preparing another chance to escape him after Clark finished here. 

With single-minded determination, Bruce worked to free his wrist. He scraped the skin raw against the metal handle as he tried to break it free from the drawer. However, he only managed to pull the drawer free from the table, so that it now hung uselessly from his wrist, its contents emptied onto the floor.

Behind him Clark moaned, either oblivious or uncaring of his attempts to escape. He thrust faster, fingers biting into Bruce’s hips. 

With a shout, Clark came. His thrusts grew irregular and then shallow as he gripped Bruce so tightly he almost broke bone. He sagged against him, breath coming fast before finally pulling free from his body. Bruce yelped as his cock left him, the sudden movement bringing a new jolt of pain.

The warmth of Clark’s body against his back receded. Bruce remained still, leaning awkwardly against the table for support. He watched Clark’s movements closely, waiting for an opening.

Behind him, Bruce heard him stumble, and that was all he needed. Adrenaline surging through his veins, he spun and broke the empty drawer over Clark’s head. Then he sprinted off-- limping as best he could manage-- to the place where the ring lay, glowing faintly. 

Bruce expected Clark to seize him again. He expected Clark to drag him down, to find some new way to torment him. But when he turned around, the ring on his left hand, Clark was still standing in the same spot, swaying unsteadily.

“Bruce,” Clark staggered backwards, his eyes unfocused. “I need-” he slurred. He grabbed the railing behind him, his fingers denting and twisting the metal. Knees buckling beneath him, he crashed to the floor. 

Suspiciously, Bruce approached his limp form. Clark did not stir, not even when Bruce pried one of his eyelids open. 

 

* * *

 

After securing Clark, Bruce stiffly lowered himself to sit in front of the Batcomputer. Tapping at the communicator, he hailed Alfred. 

His reply came immediately. “Sir, are you alright?” Alfred asked, his voice was taut with worry.

Bruce plainly ignored the question. “Did you put the call out, Alfred?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Cancel it now. Put out a warning to stay clear of the cave until further notice.”

“Sir-” Alfred began, but Bruce switched off his line. Instead, he brought up another channel, one much less frequently used.

As he waited for a response, Bruce swiveled the chair to check that Clark was still restrained. Reassuringly, he was just as he had left him, shackled hand and foot with the glow of red solar radiation illuminating his features. 

“Yeah?” the comm finally hissed.

“Jason,” Bruce spoke curtly into the receiver. “Are you in Gotham?”

There was a brief pause and a crackle. “You already know I am, or you wouldn’t have called.”

“I need you to keep everyone away from the cave.”

“Why can’t you tell them to fuck off on your own?”

“I can’t leave the cave.” He waited a moment more before adding, with some difficulty, “Tim’s more likely to listen to you.”

Jason paused, preening. “You tell me what you’ve got down there that you’re so afraid of, and I’ll do it.”

Bruce could have refused. He did not need to humor Jason. However, he was far too concerned about the current threat to waste any more time. 

“It’s Superman.”

“Shit.” The curse came through with another crackle. Nothing more followed, but Bruce did not doubt that Jason would do as he had been told.

His arm cradled against his chest, Bruce hobbled towards the lockers. As much as he wanted a shower, he dared not leave Clark’s side for more than a few minutes.

Batarang in hand, Bruce cut himself out of his suit. It was already ruined, the back entirely shredded from a place just below his shoulder blades down to his thighs. He balled up the remains of the garment and tucked it inside a drawer.

He quickly wiped himself down with a wet cloth, careful of all the places he was sore. Bruce felt no less filthy when he was done, not even when he painfully dragged on a clean suit. Still he limped back out into the cave.   
  


 

Immediately, Bruce was aware of a figure in the shadows.

“Get out,” he growled, not yet turning to face the intruder.

“Do you really think you’re going to scare me off?”

“Dick,” Bruce ground out. “Leave. Now.”

“No.” Dick replied simply. “No, I’m not going to leave you in here to deal with  _ him _ by yourself. So tell me what’s going on.” He tried to walk around to look at him face to face.

Bruce sidestepped him and turned his head.

“This is stupid.” Dick sighed and grabbed at his arm to turn him back. Bruce flinched away, but Dick had already seen the damage.

“Shit,” Dick hissed. For a horrifying second, Bruce was certain he knew somehow what Clark had done, that he had seen some sign on his body and that had betrayed him.

Instead, Dick focused on the gash on the side of his head. His eyes travelled down, cataloguing the contusions that marked him, the careful, hunched way Bruce stood with his arm tucked against his chest. “You need Alfred,” was his assessment as he stepped away, finger to his comm.

“No.” Bruce was hoarse, weary. “If you have any respect for me at all, you’ll leave  _ now _ .” He tried to muster some authority in his voice, but was almost certain he had failed.

“I’m not going to leave you alone with the man who just beat you half to death.”

“Dick, I-” Bruce pressed his lips together. “He’s too dangerous right now. You need to keep the others safe in case I-”

“Sit down.” Dick guided him to sit in front of the Batcomputer. 

Momentarily, Bruce surrendered, knowing he could not hope to force him to leave while in this condition. “Did Jason let you in?”

Sighing, Dick turned to the wreckage of the medical station. Carefully, he gathered up the supplies he would need to patch Bruce up. “It’s me, of course he let me in.”

Dumping a collection of antiseptic, butterfly closures, gauze and other medical paraphernalia beside the keyboard, Dick turned to face him. “Is the head wound the worst of it?”

“Mostly.”

“What else?”

“He fractured two or three ribs on my right side. Everything else is minor. He dislocated my right shoulder, but also reset it. He also broke my right middle finger.” 

“He set your shoulder? Why did he do that?”

“I believe he was using the pain of the dislocation to immobilize me.” Bruce watched his jaw tighten. Dick fell strangely silent as he tended to his injuries. 

Finally, Dick asked the question that had clearly been bothering him for some time, “Why did you turn off the video feed to the cave?”

“I used an emergency command to cut off all access to the cave.”

Dick wasted no time before calling his bluff. “The standard emergency system doesn’t cut the video feed. Why did you turn it off?”

Steadily, Bruce met his gaze. “I didn’t want anyone else to come after me.”

That answer held the weight of truth, though Dick would know it was incomplete. Nodding slightly, he accepted it anyways, at least for the moment. “I’ll see if I can find a sling for your arm.”

It took him far too long to return, which was enough to raise Bruce’s suspicions. If anyone knew the cave almost as well as Alfred, it was Dick. He would know that the braces and slings were in the drawer next to--

Bruce started to his feet.

He found Dick in the locker room, holding the suit with his mouth a grim line. With the fabric hanging from his hands, Bruce could clearly see the section that had been torn from the back. The painful question came next: “Did Clark do this?” 

There was no dodging that. “Yes.”

“Did he leave that mark on your neck?”

Bruce frowned. He had thought the high collar of his suit would cover the bruise. Tugging the fabric higher, he replied, “Yes.”

“Did he-”

“Dick,” Bruce cut him off. “It doesn’t matter what he did. He was being controlled.”

“You don’t know that. You have no idea what happened, or if he was even being controlled at all.”

“Clark wouldn’t.” Bruce hoped that Dick would not pick up on the fact that he had already questioned this himself.

“Fine. Just know that I’m asking because I don’t want to make assumptions about something like this.”

Dick left him alone with the suit, venturing back out into the cave. Turning back to him, he raised his voice. “He’s awake.”  
  


 

“Bruce?” Clark’s eyes were already open when Bruce approached him. Warily, Bruce watched as he tugged at the manacles around his wrists. “What’s going on?”

Bruce circled slowly around to face him, but did not come any closer. He knew that Clark was weak now and would not regain his strength as long as the solar field surrounded him. Somehow, that did little to soothe him.

“Jesus, Bruce,” Clark breathed when he stood in the light. Then, with some hesitation: “Did I do that?” as he gestured to the bruises on Bruce’s cheek with a slight movement of his hand. 

“What do you remember?” Bruce started cautiously.

“I was trying to reach you before-,” Clark trailed off, his brow furrowed. “I don’t remember why I needed to see you.” He paused, searching his memory.  “I don’t remember anything after I left my apartment.”

“When was that?”

“Thursday night, probably about six.”

Bruce barely nodded. 36 hours before Clark had arrived in the cave.

“What happened?” Clark prompted him, his eyes wide and worried.

“I believe someone took control of you.” Bruce leaned against the desk before continuing. “You punched down into the cave system from the manor grounds and ambushed me. You were angry, but weren’t able to tell me why.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce caught sight of Dick. He was observing them carefully, ready at any moment to jump between them.

Clark followed his gaze, and was met with a look far blacker than any Bruce had ever seen from Dick. Clark frowned, “Is Dick alright?”

There was no good answer for that, but Bruce hoped a sliver of the truth would suffice. “He’s feeling protective.”

“Protective?” Clark grimaced and ducked his head. “I guess he has a good reason to be.”

Bruce briefly shut his eyes.

“Bruce?”

“It’s nothing.”

**Author's Note:**

> I feel the need to apologize for entering this fandom with this fic, but I'll honestly probably be posting a lot more horrible deviant shit, so perhaps I should mention I'm also quite sorry for that. Hopefully, in a few weeks, I'll manage to post something much nicer...but for now this is what I have.
> 
> Regardless of my self-conscious muttering, I hope you enjoyed(?) this. Happy Saturday.


End file.
